Whenever I’m in Galway city, the weather seems to turn malevolent, with Arctic wind and stair-rod rain eating into the very marrow of my bones. This particular day, the Dark Lady of my Sonnets decided it was bad for me to be “cooped up in a hotel room”, however sybaritic. Taking the line of least resistance, I dressed up like a musher of huskies and accompanied her on a stomp along Salthill Promenade in a ferocious gale.